The Phantom's Pianist
by TKcloud9
Summary: Selene Gardinier, hiding from her abusive ex-fiance, stumbles upon the Phantom's lair. But when she awakes she shows no fear of the Phantom. "Why not?" he asks. "Because I know that a monster's soul lies on the inside, not on a man's face." Erik/OC, because I went through a Phantom of the Opera stage and he needed a soul mate. Full of fluff, for the discerning dust bunnies.
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note: Fluff, fluff, fluff and sappy romance. Apologies. But everybody's gotta write at least one of these, so there.**_

_**Disclaimer: Phantom of the Opera isn't mine, neither are the songs. Only Selene. **_

CHAPTER ONE

She struggled through the bitter cold, stumbling tiredly over the uneven cobblestones. She knew she was feverish, delirious, but she had to get away. She tripped over a broken box and sprawled on the ground, exhausted and beyond caring. "Please, God, let it end," she prayed, and slipped into blessed unconsciousness.

Erik was in dire need of ink and paper. Swathed in cloak and wide-brimmed hat, he opened the door that led to the Rue Scribe – and nearly tripped over a pile of cloth. He barely gave it a glance, and hurried onwards in the fading sunlight.

When he returned, the pile of sodden rags was still there. His eyes widened as he caught the pale glimpse of skin. It was a woman! He debated leaving her there, but as he grasped her hand to check her pulse he noticed that her hands were soft and white. Not a common street urchin, then. He placed a hand to her forehead dubiously and drew back in alarm. She was burning up! And was that blood? She had horrible bruises… was she beaten?

He made up his mind. He would bring her to the opera house and give her to Mme. Giry. She would help the woman. He picked up the girl and carried her into the tunnels.

The girl lay as if dead, and he had to check several times to make sure she was still breathing. Her paleness was alarming, even to him. He wrapped her in blankets, built a roaring fire in the room, and went to fetch Mme. Giry.

"She has a terrible fever," Mme. Giry said, examining her. "We can only try and cool her down and wait until the fever breaks, or…"

"Or she dies," he said bluntly.

"Yes." She gave him a look. "I cannot bring her with me to the surface. Everyone will talk."

"Let them talk."

"Erik," she reprimanded gently.

He sighed. "Fine. But as soon as she is well, I want her gone. This is not a hospital."

"Then why did you bring her here?"

He growled in reply, since he had no words to give her. Honestly it was a stupid idea. He picked up the needle and thread. There was a wound in her back that would need stitching. Thankfully she was unconscious, and stayed that way.

Two days, the girl stayed unconscious, moaning and muttering in her fevered sleep. Erik found that the only way to get her to calm down was to sing. Not that he minded singing for her. She was beautiful, and when she was sleeping peacefully she was angelic. It was a crime to let such a creature be in pain. Which is why, Erik suspected, he brought her to safety in the first place.

She woke to the sound of a soft violin playing. She stayed very still, wondering if she'd died, and then realized that she was very warm, and she was lying on a very soft bed. She sat up slowly, and nearly fell back down onto the pillows as her head spun. There was a single candle lit on a dresser nearby, and she grabbed it cautiously, holding it aloft. There was a door. She stood up and headed towards the door, wincing at her injuries.

It opened silently and easily, and when it swung open, she gasped at the sight of the lake, the candles, and the rich tapestries. "What…?"

Erik heard the soft gasp and cursed silently. She wasn't supposed to wake up yet. How would he explain? He took a deep breath and turned. "Bonjour, mademoiselle," he said, bowing to her.

"Where am I?" she asked, staring in awe at the tall, imposing figure with the gleaming white mask.

"In a safe place, mademoiselle," he said, after a moment. He could not tell her directly where she was.

"Safe," she echoed dubiously.

"Whom are you running from?" he asked curiously. He knew the look on her face; it was hunted, scared. The expression did not go well with her face.

She gave a terrible shudder. "A monster," she whispered.

Erik flinched involuntarily. "Who?" he asked again.

The girl seemed to shrink in on herself. "The Vicomte Delacroix," she said, uttering the name as if it were a curse.

"Why?"

"He tried to-" she paused and her eyes welled up with tears as she began to tremble, "he-" She started to cry. "I hit him with a vase to get away. And when I returned to my family they threw me out for refusing to marry him. He found me, tried to kill me." She touched the bruises on her face absently. "I ran..." her gaze grew unfocused as her trembling increased. "I ran so far... I thought I was going to die..." Still weak from the fever, she collapsed to the floor, still crying.

Erik had no idea what to do. He'd never dealt with this sort of thing before. So he knelt in front of her and said, in his best soothing tone, "You are safe, mademoiselle. I promise, nothing will harm you here."

She did not seem to hear him.

So he started to sing.

She quieted within seconds, lifting herself up, still trembling with exhaustion, to stare at him. "Who are you?" she asked, when he finished the song.

What name to give her? "Erik," he said finally, since any other title would have been revealing.

"Erik," she whispered. "You have a beautiful voice."

He ignored the compliment. "What is your name?" he asked.

"Selene," she said. "Selene Gardinier."

He extended a hand to help her up, and was astonished when she pulled herself up and wrapped her arms around him. He stiffened in disbelief.

"Thank you," she whispered, hugging him tightly. "Thank you so much, monsieur." She released him a moment later and stepped back, blushing.

Erik could only stare at her in shock. No one, ever, had hugged him. Not ever. "I... Uh..."

Thankfully, at that moment Mme. Giry arrived. "You're awake," she said, pleased. She took the girl's arm and made her sit down on the sofa. "How do you feel?"

"Better," Selene said, smiling slightly.

"Good. My name is Antoinette Giry, I'm the ballet mistress of the Opera Populaire. And you are?"

"Selene Gardinier," the girl replied.

"Can you tell us what happened?" Mme. Giry asked.

The girl's eyes filled with tears and she looked over at Erik helplessly.

"Allow me," he said, answering the plea in her eyes. He told the ballet mistress the story.

"You are safe here," Mme. Giry assured Selene, holding her hands tightly. "We will not let him find you." She looked at Erik. "What do we do next?" she asked.

"I will make enquiries," Erik said. "And you may give her a job at the opera, where I, we, can keep watch."

"How old are you?" Mme. Giry asked, turning back to Selene, who was watching them carefully.

"21, Madame."

"Not a child, then. And what skills do you have?"

"I am an artist," Selene replied simply.

"What kind of art?" Erik asked.

"Painting, drawing. I can play the piano, though not very well. My teacher returned to Italy."

Erik went to the desk, returned with a sketchpad and a stick of graphite. "Draw," he ordered.

She took the items and raised a delicate eyebrow at him. "What should I draw?"

"Anything."

She gazed around the world of flickering candles, smiled, and began to sketch. Within minutes, a misty lake and a haunting cavern appeared, the figure of a man in the shadows. She presented the sketch to Erik, biting her lip nervously.

He stared at it, amazed. "You are truly an artist, mademoiselle."

She smiled at the praise. "Thank you, monsieur. But not much use in an opera house, is it?"

"Can you sew?" Mme. Giry asked.

"Only a little."

"Dance?"

"No."

"Sing?"

"I wish," was the wistful reply.

Mme. Giry glanced at Erik. "I don't see how they could hire her," she said matter-of-factly.

"Play," Erik said, nodding to the piano nearby.

Selene rose and crossed to the piano. She touched the keys hesitantly, and looked at the scores scattered on the top. She picked up a page, and began to play it.

Erik listened critically. She had difficulty with the complex passages, but her posture was correct, and she managed to put emotion into it, which was more than could be said for the piano player in the orchestra. "I can work with this," he said, more to himself than to them.

"Work with what?"

"You will stay here," Erik announced, having formulated a plan. "I will train you to become a great piano player, and you will audition for the opera. They will give you a position."

"And in return?" Selene asked cautiously.

"And in return you shall give me your art," Erik said, after a moment. He did not need anything, but things of beauty were always a pleasure.

She wrapped her arms around herself insecurely.

"Come," Mme. Giry said, "you must be hungry." She led the girl to the kitchen and started to take out some bread and cheese.

Erik left them in the kitchen and went back to the violin.

"Who is he, truly, Madame?" Selene asked in a hushed tone, as they ate.

Mme. Giry sighed. "He is a genius, child. A misunderstood, bitter genius."

Selene stayed silent. "But he is not dangerous?" she finally asked.

"I do not think he would hurt you," Mme. Giry said. "But tread lightly. And do not touch his mask, or ask about it."

Selene nodded. "I understand." She touched the bruise on her face absently. "Is it scarring?"

"Yes." Mme. Giry looked at her sternly. "No pity."

"No," Selene said. "I want none, and I don't suppose he wants any either."

"Good girl."

After she ate, Selene felt very tired, and went back to her room to sleep.

"I will come back tomorrow," Mme. Giry told Erik. "I expect her to be unharmed."

He scowled at her. "I will not touch her."

"Good."

Mindful of the girl sleeping in the other room, Erik stuck to playing quiet tunes on the violin, thinking up a plan. She would need to heal, before they could begin lessons. And she needed clothes. She could not continue in one of Mme. Giry's old nightgowns. She also needed her own art supplies. Always a man of action, he left the lair to go shopping.

When he returned to the lair, his arms full of boxes, Selene was still sleeping heavily. He placed the boxes on the edge of the bed, and went back to his violin.

Selene woke up disoriented, and then remembered where she was, and lay back down, relieved. She saw the boxes at the end of the bed, and her curiosity was piqued. She got out of bed and began to open boxes. Dresses, nightgowns, chemises, shoes, shawls, a cloak, stockings… She held one up against herself. It was her size…

She ventured out of the room, and found Erik sitting at the piano, looking at simple melodies. "Excuse me, monsieur," she said hesitantly.

"Yes?" he asked, glancing up.

"The clothes…"

"They are yours," he said, standing. "Come." He showed her the bathroom and the soap he'd bought, and left her to her toiletries.

Selene took a long, hot bath, and inspected the extent of her injuries. She had bruises on her face and arms, her neck, and a painful wound on her shoulder, covered with a bandage. She was careful not to get it wet as she washed her hair and body. When she got out, she put on a light green dress and went out.

"You look much better," Erik said, startling her with his sudden appearance.

She smiled. "I feel better, thank you."

He looked at her awkwardly and she looked at him. "Is there anything I can help you with?" she asked after a moment.

"No." He didn't even look up. "Your art supplies are over there."

Selene went over to where he gestured, and found graphite sticks, paper, ink, conte crayons, and oil paints and canvas. "Oh, monsieur," she gasped. "This is far too much."

"Not for a good artist." He kept his tone brusque but he couldn't help the smile on his face as he watched her enthusiastically organizing her supplies on the table.

After that, however, there was an awkward silence again. Erik ignored her and went to the organ. He vented his frustrations on the poor instrument, and then began to play one of his compositions.

Selene was spellbound as she listened to the music. If she hadn't known he was a human, she would have thought he was an angel, to produce such music. But there he was, a true genius. She crept closer; wanting to watch his hands fly over the keys.

He was so engrossed in his music he didn't realize that she'd come to stand almost directly behind his shoulder. He finished with a quiet flourish.

"That was so beautiful," Selene commented, wiping a few tears from her face.

Erik nearly fell off the bench in surprise. He'd completely forgotten that she was there. "Please, mademoiselle, do not sneak up on me."

She grinned. "I'm sorry, monsieur." But her eyes twinkled and she didn't look sorry at all.

Erik continued playing, now hyper-aware of the presence behind his shoulder, but as he drifted into the music he lost all awareness. He played for another couple hours, refining his composition, and when he stopped, he realized that Selene was no longer behind him. And there was the smell of roast chicken wafting through the cave. He went to the kitchen and found Selene tossing a salad. "What are you doing?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"I'm making dinner," she replied simply.

"Why?"

"I'm hungry, and you look like you could use a good meal."

He frowned at her.

"Bachelors," she said serenely, taking the salad and the roasted chicken to the table. "My brother was the same way before he married, always skipping meals."

His scowl increased. He did not need to be taken care of.

"Aren't you going to eat?" she asked innocently, putting down two plates.

"No," he said. It was too difficult to eat with the mask on.

She seemed to understand his troubles. "I can eat in my room," she said, fixing up her plate.

"No," he said, "you eat here."

"Are you sure?" she asked doubtfully.

"Yes."

"You could always take it off," she suggested quietly.

He froze. "_No_," he growled, and swept out of the room.

She ate her dinner in solitude, and cleaned up. Once everything was spotless, she returned to her room for the night, still tired from her ordeal. Hopefully, the mysterious man would be able to relax in her presence.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer: see Chap 1**_

CHAPTER TWO

A week passed like that, awkwardly, as they learned each other's habits and routines. Erik learned that she was quite an impertinent young lady, and he enjoyed the banter they shared. Each evening, Mme. Giry would come down to the lair and make sure that they were both still alive.

"We start your lessons today," Erik announced, as Selene was making breakfast on the tenth day. Somehow she'd insinuated herself as cook and housekeeper, and Erik was starting to get used to being taken care of. He was also eating better than he'd ever eaten in his whole life. But now it was time to get to work.

They put in hours' worth of practice as he coached her through the difficult passages of a song, and then put her to practice. She was a good student, and he had to admit she had a good ear for the music.

"We'll resume tomorrow," Erik said, nodding to her. "Do not expect to see me until the evening, I have some errands to run." He had not been to the opera house above for four days and he needed to oversee rehearsals.

"Where are you going?" Selene asked curiously.

"The opera house."

She nodded slowly. "Monsieur Erik, where are we? In relation to the opera house, I mean?"

He sighed. She was a smart girl; he knew she'd have figured it out eventually. "We are under the Opera Populaire, mademoiselle."

She smiled, satisfied. "I knew it." She lowered her voice. "You are the Opera Ghost, aren't you?"

"I see my reputation precedes me," he said, giving her a grand bow. "How did you know?"

"You are such a musical genius, and Mme. Giry comes and goes so easily, I knew it had to be something of the sort." Her eyes sparkled with curiosity. "How do you get around so easily? And why do they think you're a ghost, when you're not?"

He smiled briefly. "A magician never reveals his secrets."

"_Are_ you a magician?" she asked in surprise.

"Yes," he answered, throwing his voice to the other side of the room.

She turned to look, and then turned back to him, smiling. "What else can you do?"

He amused her with some magic tricks and ventriloquism, and he realized it was quite nice to be applauded and admired.

As she headed to her room to sleep, he spoke up. "Mademoiselle Gardinier, I would strongly urge you not to venture into the tunnels, or into the lake."

She turned back to look at him with wide eyes. "I would not dream of it monsieur."

He nodded. "Then good night."

"Good night."

The next day he was indeed gone when Selene woke up. She made a small breakfast, and didn't bother to look for him. She practiced a while on the piano, and tried the organ, which produced a horrible groan.

"Sorry," she told the instrument, and left it alone.

She went instead to her paints, and set up an easel and canvas on the shores of the lake. She stared at the blank canvas for a while, and sighed. All she had in her mind's eye was the mysterious phantom. So she picked up a graphite stick and started to sketch it out. She began to flesh it out with the paints.

When Erik returned from a long day of overseeing rehearsals, he was surprised to see her painting away, utterly oblivious to his presence. Is this what he was like while he was playing? He got closer, and when he saw the subject of her painting he didn't know whether to be angry or pleased. It was _him_, steeped in shadows, his eyes burning and his mask glowing white. From this painting, he almost looked... handsome. "Why did you paint me that way?" he asked, making her jump.

"Monsieur Erik!" she said, turning to him, her hand over her heart. "You frightened me."

"Why did you paint me that way?" he asked again.

She turned to look at the painting. "That is the way I see you, monsieur."

"But you've made me..." he trailed off, loathe to even say it.

"Mysterious?" she asked.

"Well yes, but no."

"Debonair?"

"No."

"Handsome?" she ventured.

"That," he said stiffly.

She smiled, her cheeks turning slightly red. "Well that's the way you are, _monsieur le fantome_. Of course I cannot see what's under your mask, but the rest of your face, yes, I dare say it is."

He stared at her in disbelief. No one had ever called him handsome before. Genius yes. Mysterious yes. But handsome? "You've gone mad," he concluded. "I should not have brought you here."

Now it was her turn to stare. "Why ever not?"

"Because if you think this face is handsome you have forgotten the rest of the world," he said angrily. "Are you truly so blind?"

Selene's eyes flashed angrily. "The last man I thought handsome on the outside was a monster on the inside, and it transferred to his face. I have not forgotten what ugliness looks like, monsieur." Her tone softened. "But your beauty, that comes from the inside. It would make even what's underneath this," she gestured to the mask, "handsome."

He growled. "You are a fool, mademoiselle, if you think so."

"Then show me," she challenged. "Prove me wrong."

"No," he said, getting a hold of his temper. "I will not."

"Why?"

"Because if you see my face, you will leave, and I will be alone."

She looked at him sorrowfully. "I wouldn't."

"Yes, you would." He turned away from her bitterly. "Everyone does."

She sighed. "If that is what you believe, then I will respect that." She began to put her paints away. "Can we skip our lesson tonight, monsieur? I am very tired."

He nodded. Their argument had worn him out as well.

When Madame Giry descended to the lair the next day, she found two very quiet souls. Erik was shut up in his room, and Selene was sitting on the edge of the lake, braiding and re-braiding her long hair.

"What's wrong?" Mme. Giry asked, sitting beside the girl.

Selene sighed. "He thinks I will leave him if I see his face. Surely it cannot be so bad?"

"Most people would be terrified," Mme. Giry said. "His disfigurement is severe."

"But that is only the outside," Selene protested. "He is a good man."

"You have been here a week and you already think you know him?" Mme. Giry asked, amused.

"I know his soul," Selene said, smiling softly. "It is in everything he plays, everything he sings. Only someone truly good would take in a broken woman and shelter her like this."

Mme. Giry smiled slightly. This might work out better than she thought.

Unbeknownst to them, Erik was listening to the entire conversation. It made him even more determined not to let her see what was behind his mask; if she saw what truly lay behind it she would run away, and take her high ideals with her. If she thought he was a good man, then he would try to be.

That evening during their piano lesson, Selene turned to him. "Monsieur, will you show me what lies behind the mask?"

He suppressed a growl. "No. Do not ask again."

She bit her lip. "Very well."

The next morning Erik found a sketch on the table, of a man with warts and lesions on his face. "What is this?" he demanded, shaking it in Selene's face angrily.

"You will not show me so I will have to guess," Selene said. "Is that it?"

"No." He tossed the paper on the table. "I am going out."

When he got back, there were another six sketches, each one more gruesome than the last. He glanced them over and tore them up in frustration. "No!" he yelled in the general direction of Selene's room.

A paper slid out from under the door.

He grabbed it. Another sketch, of a face worse than his own. That was it. He stormed into her room and grabbed her arm. "Why do you continue!?" he asked in a threatening voice.

"Because you will not show me!" she retorted.

He ripped the mask off his face, so enraged he didn't even care. "There!" he yelled, gripping her even tighter. "_This_ is what I hide behind the mask! Are you pleased now, you insolent prying woman?"

She stared at him in shock, at the disfigured eye and nose, at the swollen and inflamed face, the red bumps on his skin. "Oh, Erik," she said sadly, "why did you not just show me to begin with?"

He stared at her, his anger vanishing in confusion. "What?"

"I thought it would be so much worse."

"What?" he said again, still confused.

She reached up tentatively and paused, her fingers only centimeters from his face, silently asking for permission.

He nodded, just barely.

She trailed her fingertips over the rough, uneven skin of his face, smoothing a scar on his cheek. "You're not a monster," she said quietly, smiling at him even though there were tears in her eyes. "Here I was, imagining all sorts of horrible things, and this is all you have to show for it?" She reached up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I am not afraid of you, Erik."

He couldn't help it. He broke down in tears. No one had ever touched his face so gently. No one had ever kissed him, not even on the cheek. Not even his own mother. He fell to his knees before her, sobbing.

"Please don't cry," Selene begged, kneeling with him, tears filling her own eyes at the pain in his expression. She reached out to him again, and was pleased when he returned the hug, hiding his face in her shoulder. She stroked his hair lightly. "It's all right," she soothed, "I'm not leaving. I promise."

He finally got himself under control, and lifted his head, his eyes red and swollen. He stood and helped her up, and moved to replace the mask on his face.

She grabbed his wrist quickly. "You don't have to," she said. "You don't have to hide from me."

He put the mask on his face anyways, and smiled bitterly. "You have no idea what I've still hidden."

"Well then tell me," she said persuasively.

"No."

"Or I could start guessing."

He groaned in frustration. "_No_. Not that again."

"Well then?"

He gestured her to the couch. "You will hate me after this," he said, resigned. If she hadn't run yet, which was still surprising, she would run after he'd told her of his life before the opera. He told her everything. From his unloving mother to the gypsies, to the Shah of Persia, the drugs, his escape from the guard, his retreat to the opera house. He didn't leave out a single thing, trying to make her understand that he was not a good man.

Selene stayed absolutely silent during his tale, though her tears were silently running down her face.

"There," he said, when he finished. He was so emotionally exhausted he didn't even care anymore.

She stayed silent, looking at him with an unreadable expression.

He frowned at her. "Well?" he demanded, starting to get nervous. "Say something."

"Thank you," she whispered softly.

He stared. "What?"

"Thank you, for telling me your story. I know it could not have been easy." She stood up and went over to him, touched his mask lightly. "I will not betray your trust."

He could only stare at her with wide eyes. "You..."

"Would you like some tea?" she asked, walking towards the ktichen.

He went after her, grabbed her arm. "That's it?" he asked in sheer disbelief. "You're going to make tea?"

"What else am I to do?" she asked.

"Scream, curse, run, cry, I don't know," he said, starting to get frustrated.

Selene was frankly confused. "Why would I do that?"

"Why wouldn't you?"

"Because I am not afraid of you," she said. "You are not a monster. You are a man, a musical genius, and you have been nothing but kind to me. A few mood-swings and glares, but you've always been a gentleman. Why would I run away from the only man who has not tried to use me?"

He let go of her arm. "But-"

"Do you _want_ me to hate you?" she asked, frustrated.

"No."

"Then why do you insist?"

He looked at her blankly. Why was he being so contrary? "I don't know."

She gave him a tiny smile. "You're tired, Erik." She reached up and laid a hand on his uncovered cheek. "Rest a while. I'll make dinner."

He did as he was told. Frankly he could not figure the woman out, and it amazed him that she had not run. No, instead she had touched his face and smiled and was currently making dinner. When had the world changed so much? He fell onto his bed and stared up at the ceiling in disbelief. Who was this angel in the guise of a woman?

As Selene made dinner she wiped her eyes frequently with the edge of the rag. The revelations of Erik's past were horrible, and yes, slightly frightening, and terribly sad. She couldn't think of that young boy in the gypsy camp without tearing up.

"Get a hold of yourself," she muttered fiercely, wiping her eyes again. Now she knew why he acted the way he did. He didn't trust anyone, and he feared everyone's reactions to him. That's why he hid in the shadows underneath the opera house. That's why when she tried to be friendly he would glare. He didn't understand that she wasn't going to hurt him.

Nadir Khan was not expecting to be met with the smells of a feast coming from the lair as he ventured down the tunnel. He also did not expect the sight of a lovely young woman bustling around the kitchen, quite oblivious to his footsteps. "Mademoiselle?" he asked worriedly.

She whirled to face him with a gasp of surprise. "Who are you?" she asked, staring at the short Persian man.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, looking her over for signs of abuse. "Have you been drugged? Are you all right?"

Then she did something that surprised him. "Erik!" she called.

He heard the note of fear in her voice and bolted out of his room, the lasso at his fingers. "What's wrong-" he started, and glared when he saw Nadir. "Oh. It's you."

Nadir stared. "What's going on here?" he asked.

Erik crossed to Selene's side and said, "Mademoiselle Gardinier, this is my, acquaintance, Nadir Khan."

"The Daroga?" Selene asked cautiously.

"Yes."

Nadir stared. How did she know who he was? "I leave for two weeks and you find yourself a housemaid?" he asked.

Erik glared at him. "She is not a housemaid. Selene will be the orchestra's next pianist. I am teaching her."

"Wait," Nadir said, "Selene Gardinier, the young woman you told me to inquire about?"

"Yes." Erik's eyes widened in surprise as Selene grabbed onto his arm, but he kept his focus. "What did you find out?"

"Apparently, she is dead," Nadir said. He held out the newspaper. "They found the body of a woman matching her description. The funeral was held yesterday. The fiancé has gone to England."

Selene's eyes widened to the size of small moons. "They think I'm dead?" she breathed.

"Yes."

"And he's gone?"

"Yes."

She gave a small gasp of relief. "Then I am free."

Erik's heart sank. If she was no longer under threat, she was free to leave. She would leave him. "Go, then," he said harshly. "Return to the world. The Daroga will help you to change your name and find a place." He pulled away from her grasp and went to the organ, trying to fight the angry tears that threatened to spill.

Selene stared at him, tears filling her own eyes. "You want me to leave?" she asked, injured. Just as he'd begun to open up to her, he was ordering her away.

"No one would stay in this world of night," Erik retorted. "Go, and tell no one of this place."

"But Erik-"

"_LEAVE!" _he roared, slamming his hands on the organ, creating a horrible sound.

"Come, my dear," Nadir said hurriedly. "I will show you to the surface." He took her arm gently and led her away. "You care for him," he noted, as they walked through the passages.

Her voice broke as she answered. "Yes. I thought-" She sighed. "I wish he'd understand."

"You would stay?" he asked, surprised.

"I would have," she said, sighing again. "But if he does not want me..." She trailed off and shook her head. "Never mind."

Nadir gave her an appraising glance. "He will come to his senses," he assured her. "No man in his right mind would let you slip away."

She blushed under his knowing gaze. "I don't know what you're talking about, monsieur," she muttered, her cheeks flaming.

He grinned. "Oh no? A young woman on a first-name basis with the Phantom of the Opera, who does not want to leave him? What am I talking about, I wonder? Could it be love?"

"I've only known him a fortnight," Selene protested. It couldn't be that.

"And now it will stand the test of separation," Nadir said, letting the wall swing open to reveal a closet. "We are in the opera house. Come along." He led her to Madame Giry.

"Selene," Mme. Giry said in surprise. "What has happened?"

"Everyone thinks I am dead, so he sent me away."

Mme. Giry sighed. "Of course he did. Come, we will find the manager, Monsieur LeFevre. We must get you an audition."

"And change her name," Nadir suggested. "Mademoiselle Selene Pascal suits you, I think."

Selene's playing was indeed better than the current pianist. She was hired, and given quarters near the other orchestra members. Mme. Giry introduced her to a few other people and left her to rest. "You've had a long day, my dear," Mme. Giry said, patting her arm sympathetically. "I will go retrieve your things."

Selene nodded. "Thank you, Madame." It truly had been the most eventful day of her life. First, she'd seen Erik's real face, and heard his sorrowful past. Then she found out that everyone believed her dead, and then, Erik sent her away. She buried her face in her pillow to have a good cry. Today was the day for tears and emotions it seemed. Tomorrow had to be better.

"_WHAT do you want?_" Erik yelled, as soon as Mme. Giry descended to the lair.

"I am here to retrieve Selene's things," Mme. Giry said calmly.

"Where is she going?" Erik asked desperately.

"Nowhere, Erik."

He growled. "Do not test my patience, woman. Where is she?"

She glared back at him, unafraid. "She is in a room above our heads, probably crying her eyes out."

"What?"

"You are a fool, Erik," she said sharply, tired of all this nonsense. "She would have stayed with you. But no, in the face of love you are blind, and you push away what you do not understand."

He gaped. "But-"

"But nothing," Mme. Giry retorted. "She is the new pianist, as per your instructions. Enjoy your solitude, monsieur." She went into Selene's room and began to pack her things.

Erik stood there, astonished. She had stayed? She had taken the position? "Why did she stay?" Erik asked, when Mme. Giry came back out, her arms full of clothes.

"Ask her yourself." She left, and he let her.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Disclaimer: see Chap 1_**

CHAPTER THREE

He stayed in his lair for two days, alternating between sorrow and rage, and then he couldn't take it any longer. He had to see her, to make sure that the woman who haunted his dreams and his music had not vanished.

When he went up to the opera house, he went to the stage, where everyone was rehearsing. And there was Selene, wearing her light purple dress and playing the piano for the dancers. She looked tired, but she was concentrated on her playing.

Erik kept his eyes on her the entire rehearsal. He couldn't stop looking at her, wondering at her presence. Any sane woman would have left the opera house and run to the opposite side of the country. But she'd told him she wasn't afraid of him. Was that why she'd stayed? Impossible.

As soon as rehearsals were over, Selene retired to her room. She wasn't feeling well, worrying about Erik, alone in his dark thoughts. She got to her room and sank down onto the bed with a sigh. She was so tired...

Erik watched her close her eyes, and stepped silently through the mirror. "Selene."

The musical voice made her eyes fly open, and she gasped. "Erik!"

"Why are you here?" he questioned.

"Rehearsals are over," she said blankly.

"No," he said impatiently, "why are you _here_? You are free now, why do you stay?"

"Because I do not want to go," Selene said. "Where else would I find a position like this?"

He frowned. Of course she had stayed for the money. People needed money to live.

"And," Selene continued softly, seeing the frown on his face, "I didn't want to leave you."

He loomed over her, completely bewildered. "Why?"

She sighed, frustrated. "Because you are a good man," she said, "and because you are my friend, and because I'd hoped..." she trailed off, her eyes on the ground.

"Hoped what?" he asked, his breath caught in his chest.

"I'd hoped..." she started, slowly meeting his gaze. But the words didn't come. So she acted. She took a swift step forward and pulled off his mask, and pressed her lips to his own, cupping his face in her hands.

He stayed frozen in shock, and then his body took over on instinct and returned the kiss. He wrapped his arms around her slim waist and held her to him, barely believing that this was happening.

She finally pulled away, breathless and dizzy. "That's why," she said, gasping slightly.

He released her reluctantly, equally short of breath. "Oh." And then he broke, overwhelmed with emotions, unable to believe that she had just kissed him, the monster of the night. But now that she had, he couldn't let her go. "Please don't leave," he begged, reaching out to her again. "Forgive me."

She wrapped her arms around him, smiling and crying at the same time. "You are forgiven," she said, kissing his scarred cheek lightly. "I won't leave. I'm not going anywhere. But don't ever send me away again."

He clutched her desperately, pure joy rushing through him, his face tingling where she'd kissed him. "Selene," he whispered, daring to kiss her again.

She received it eagerly, and ran her hands through his hair.

There was a knock on the door. They both froze and broke away.

"Who is it?" Selene called, trying to regain her composure.

"Marcel Dubois, mademoiselle," the voice replied. He was a cellist.

She went to the door and opened it slightly. "Oui, monsieur?"

"A bunch of us from the orchestra are going out to dinner tomorrow, and we thought you'd like to come," he said, smiling hopefully. "You are a great pianist, after all."

"Thank you for the invitation," Selene said, smiling.

He gave her a short bow and left. "Bonsoir."

"Bonsoir." She closed the door and turned back to Erik.

He glared at the closed door. "Insolent fool," he muttered.

She laughed in delight and took his hands. "Jealousy, over me?" she asked, smiling.

"Yes," he said, bringing her closer. "You are mine." Seeing her shiver, and remembering her experiences, he added hesitantly, "If you wish it."

"Oh, most definitely monsieur," she said, squeezing his hands. "And you are mine."

He grinned. No one had ever laid claim to him before, and it was thrilling.

They shared a happy smile, and then Selene asked softly, "So what now?"

He frowned. "What do you mean, mon Ange?"

"How do we proceed?" she asked. "I have a job here, now. And if we are, courting," she blushed, "we can't exactly go out to dinner."

"Well the first step, I believe, is for you to rest. You've had a long day." He kissed her hand softly. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For not coming to you sooner."

She squeezed his hands tightly. "I thought we agreed you are forgiven." She pulled him over to the divan and they both sat down. "But after today?"

"Then you have a dinner to attend with your fellow orchestra," he said.

"_Erik_," she complained, scowling playfully at him.

He grinned. "You shall continue to play the piano. I will run the opera house and watch over you. And when you want to see me, you can come down. And when I want to see you, I will come here." He leaned forward to kiss her very gently. "And we shall have picnics on the rooftop when it's nice out."

She laughed and dropped her head onto his shoulder. "It sounds perfect."

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. For the first time ever, he was content. He had Selene, and everything was perfect.

"Sing for me?" she requested, looking up at him hopefully.

"What shall I sing?" he asked. He'd never refused a request to play or sing since the first day they'd met.

"Anything," she said, "I don't know. I just want to hear your voice."

He smiled, and thought of an idea which he'd been composing for a while now. "_Night time sharpens, heightens each sensation. Darkness stirs, and wakes imagination..._"

Selene listened to his beautiful voice as it wrapped around her, the velvety tones soothing her very soul. Before she knew it, she was asleep, finally resting since she'd come up to the opera house.

Erik caught her as she began to slip forward off the couch. He smiled tenderly, and moved her to the bed. "Sleep well, mon Ange," he said, kissing her temple. He exited through the mirror.

The next few weeks passed in a blissful haze for the two of them. Rehearsals were nearly finished, and they were each busy with their jobs. But the nighttime belonged to just the two of them. Selene would escape to the lair for a few hours in the evening, and even if they didn't even speak while Erik was composing or she was painting, she came away to her room feeling happier than before.

And the change in Erik was amazing. He smiled, now, and he stopped terrorizing the Prima Donna and the other members of the cast. He wanted to be the man that Selene thought he was, and he was trying. His compositions became happier, softer, and when he slept his nightmares tended to stay away.

Mme. Giry came to visit one of the evenings that Selene was there. She had to pause on the threshold and smile at the scene.

Erik was reading aloud from a book, Selene curled up next to him, sipping a cup of tea. And Erik was unmasked. He was truly letting her into his heart.

Mme. Giry cleared her throat noisily to let them know she was coming, and proceeded the last few steps. She noted fondly that Selene stood up to shield Erik while he slipped the mask into place. "Good evening," she said.

"Madame Giry," Erik said courteously.

"Tea?" Selene asked.

"No, thank you, I only came to see how our favorite opera ghost is faring."

"Very well thank you," Erik said, his tone suggesting she could leave now. He cherished his few hours with Selene, and he was very jealous.

"And I came to ask about Christine Daae," Mme Giry continued.

Erik froze, and turned pale. "I'd forgotten," he muttered, astonished. Since Selene came into his life, he'd entirely forgotten that his other pupil even existed. Five whole weeks without a single thought of her, or her lessons.

"Who?" Selene asked, glancing from one to the other.

"Christine Daae, a girl in the ballet," Erik explained. "She came here when she was seven years old. I've been teaching her to sing. Her voice, Selene, her voice is the most beautiful thing I've ever heard. She has the potential to be Prima Donna, and I was helping her." He frowned. "But I haven't seen her in weeks. I'd forgotten." He turned to Mme. Giry. "Is she well?"

"She has been very quiet," Mme. Giry said. "She fears somehow she has displeased her Angel of Music. I think you should go to her, Erik. Explain, somehow."

"Angel of Music?" Selene asked, raising an eyebrow.

"She thinks I'm the ghost of her father," Erik said distractedly.

Selene's eyes widened. "Why would you tell her that?"

"I couldn't teach her otherwise," Erik said. "Would you, as a seven year old, accept the phantom of the opera teaching you how to sing?"

"Probably not," Selene said. "How old is she now?"

"16," Mme. Giry supplied.

"And she is very close to being ready," Erik mused.

"She's better than Carlotta, yes?" Selene asked anxiously. The current prima donna made her wish she was deaf.

"Christine and Carlotta cannot even be compared," Erik sniffed arrogantly. "You think I would teach someone with Carlotta's voice?"

Selene smiled at him. "Only the best for the phantom of the opera," she said dramatically.

He smiled and kissed her cheek. "Which is why I chose you," he said.

She blushed.

Mme. Giry smiled. It was wonderful to see Erik so human, and caring. "Will you go to Christine, give her a reason for your absence?" Mme. Giry asked.

"It's too late tonight. Tomorrow, she should come to the chapel," Erik decided.

"Very well. Good night, both of you. Selene, don't stay too late."

Selene nodded. "I'll be right up." She turned to Erik. "You have to tell her who you are. She can't go on believing that you're an angel. When she finds out the truth it'll be a shock."

"No," Erik protested. "She's not like that."

"How do you know?"

That was a good point. He didn't know how Christine would react. She was so innocent. And he was so... not.

"You have to tell her."

"Not yet," he said.

"When?" Selene asked.

"When it is time." But he knew if he had his way, he would never tell her.

And from the look on Selene's face as she bid him good-night, she knew it too.

The next evening, Erik was waiting for Christine in the chapel. "Angel?" she asked timidly, looking around.

"_Christine_," he sang softly, and was pleased when she smiled.

"Oh, Angel, I thought you'd forgotten me," she said, relieved. "Have I displeased you?"

"Never," he said, smiling at her eagerness. "Have you been practicing?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Good. _Sing to me_."

She began to sing the last piece he'd put her to work on, and he closed his eyes to let the music flow over him. Her voice truly was beautiful, but for some reason, every time she sang, the face that came into his mind was Selene.

"That was beautiful," said the voice of his love.

Erik's eyes snapped open to look into the chapel, surprised. There stood Selene, smiling at a terrified Christine.

"Oh," Christine gasped, staring. "I... I thought I was alone."

"You have such a lovely voice," Selene said wistfully. "I wish I could sing like that." She gave the girl an encouraging smile. "Who taught you to sing like that?"

Erik's eyes narrowed. What was she doing?

"Oh," Christine said blankly. "I have a private tutor."

"That's wonderful. Does he work here at the opera?"

Erik's eyes widened. She knew perfectly well who he was. He frowned when he figured it out. She was trying to make him reveal himself. Fine then. "_Selene_," he sang softly, ethereally.

Christine's eyes widened to the size of saucers.

Selene smiled softly. "Oh I see..." She took Christine's hand and squeezed it comfortingly. "I believe you and I have the same teacher, Christine."

"What?" Christine asked, amazed.

"How do you think I play the piano so well?" Selene asked. "We both perform for the same man."

"Man?" Christine echoed.

"Yes." Selene wrapped an arm around the girl's shoulders.

"But that can't be. He is an angel of music."

"People can be beautiful musicians, too."

"I don't believe you," Christine said, shaken. How could her angel of music be a man?

Selene nodded, and to everyone's surprise, sang softly, _"Angel of Music, guide and guardian, hide no longer, secret and strange angel..." _

Erik couldn't help but gape. He'd never heard her sing before. She wasn't amazing like Christine, but she did have a good voice unlike what she claimed, and somehow, hearing her sing made his entire soul fill up with happiness. And she was singing to _him_. Then he realized that was his cue, and reluctantly, he opened the secret entrance and stepped through the wall. "_You are my angels of music_," he sang to them softly, giving them a bow and holding a hand out to Selene.

She took his hand and stood by his side, still holding Christine's hand. "Christine Daae, may I present to you my friend the Phantom of the Opera, our angel of music."

Christine stared, equally amazed and terrified. "You- you are my Angel?" she inquired.

"Yes, child," he said.

His voice was unmistakable. It was him. Christine's eyes began to fill with tears. Her father had not sent her an angel, after all, only a ghost.

"Don't cry," Selene said, wrapping the younger girl in a hug. "Can't you see this is a good thing?"

"But he is not an angel," Christine said, afraid to look at him. "My father..."

"Your father would be proud of you," Selene said, "_so _proud of you. How do you know he didn't send the phantom to teach you? Didn't he protect you, guide you, all these years? And now you are worthy of the role of prima donna. Isn't that enough?"

Christine bowed her head, ashamed. "Yes," she admitted. She looked up at Erik. "Forgive me, monsieur, for being ungrateful."

"All is forgiven," he promised, relieved that Selene had been there to talk to the girl. He gave them both a smile. "Come, we must finish your lesson, Christine."

"Should I go?" Selene asked.

He held out a hand to stop her. "No, my dear, don't go." He took her hand and they sat on the window ledge. "Now, Christine. From the top."

Christine smiled at the two. It was obvious they were in love. "Oui, monsieur."

After Christine left the chapel, Erik and Selene returned to the lair. "That was not a nice thing to do," Erik told his beloved, frowning.

"I know, Erik, I'm sorry. But just think. Christine has accepted you as a person, and she didn't run away."

He kissed her forehead softly. "Only because you were there, ma Cherie. Thank you."

"You're quite welcome." She smiled. "Dinner?"

"That would be lovely."


	4. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer: see Chap 1**_

CHAPTER FOUR

And then as always, life threw them a sour note. Selene was in the new production, and she had a beautiful piano solo that she played in the second act. Erik, ever vigilant, was watching the performance during the second week, and noticed a man who was staring fixedly at Selene. He had a murderous look on his face.

After the performance Erik followed Selene through the walls to her rooms, humming to her with his ventriloquism so only she could hear.

She was singing along softly, when suddenly she stopped - and turned white as Erik's mask. There was a man standing in the hallway, the same one as earlier.

"So is this where you've been hiding all this time," the man said, starting forward. "I knew you were not dead."

She backtracked a few steps. "You were in England," she said, her voice trembling.

Erik connected the dots and his fist clenched. It was Delacroix, the man who'd tried to kill her. He resisted the urge to leap out and kill the man on the spot.

"I was," Delacroix said, "but I came back. There's only so much supposed mourning one can handle before it starts to become boring." He sneered. "Thankfully, I've found you again and don't have to trouble myself with a new fiancé."

"No," Selene said, "go away."

"Make me."

Before Selene could blink, Erik was standing in front of her, his sword at the ready, pointing directly at Delacroix's throat. "I'd suggest you leave before I do something Selene might regret," he said in his most threatening tone.

The man's jaw dropped and he backed up against the wall. "Wh-"

"Tell no one of this," Erik warned. "Selene Gardinier is dead to the world, and dead to you. If I see you in this opera house again, or anywhere _near_ her, you are a dead man."

Delacroix barely managed a nod before he fled.

Erik turned to Selene. "Go to the lair, wait for me there. I will follow him home and make sure he keeps silent."

She nodded, still shaking from the ordeal, and Erik went off. He tracked the Vicomte to his town house, and made sure the Vicomte did not try to tell anyone. Then, he returned to the opera house.

Selene was curled up in the sofa in front of the fire, a blanket wrapped around her. She was shivering violently, tears in her eyes from the shock.

Erik went to her immediately and knelt before her. "Are you hurt?" he asked gently.

She shook her head. "No," she whispered.

He sat next to her and pulled her into his arms to try and stop her trembling. She was frightened out of her wits. "You're safe, Selene," he soothed, smoothing her hair, "he's gone. He's never going to hurt you again. You're safe."

She finally calmed down, and curled up into his side. "I know," she said softly. "I trust you."

His heart swelled happily at those words. To have the trust of someone so beautiful and talented, and _light._.. he swore to himself that he would never break that trust. Not ever.

They sat for a while, and then Erik picked her up and moved her to the piano bench. "Play with me," he requested.

She smiled and put her hands on the keys next to his.

"Sing with me, as well?" he asked.

She turned red and glanced away. "I don't sing very well, you know that."

He shook his head. "I don't care. Please?"

She placed a hand on the side of his mask, silently asking permission. He allowed her to remove it, and sat very still as she placed a gentle kiss on the scarred flesh.

"You should wear your mask less often," she said reprovingly. "It chafes, doesn't it?"

He shrugged the question off and started to play, Selene starting the second set of notes right on time. "You know the words?" he asked.

She nodded.

They sang and played the complete duet, and their voices and their music soared through the cave, echoing up the tunnels. And even though Selene's voice was average, the love song spoke volumes when she sang it to him. Erik had never felt happier in his life.

It wasn't long afterwards that the cast was rehearsing for Hannibal. Selene was on the piano, keeping the timing for the ballet and the singers. She envied the cleaning staff as they stuffed pieces of cotton in their ears to muffled Carlotta's screeching.

LeFevre and two other men appeared on stage, near the wings. "As you can see rehearsals are under way."

Monsieur Reyer huffed exasperatedly. "M. Lefevre, I am rehearsing."

LeFevre came to the center of the stage, completely interrupting. "M. Reyer, Mme. Giry, ladies and gentlemen, please, if I can have your attention, thank you." He waited for everyone to look over and continued, "As you know, for some weeks there have been rumours of my imminent retirement. I can now tell you that these were all true."

Selene's jaw dropped, and she glanced up at the rafters in concern. Erik hadn't said anything about it.

"And it is my pleasure to introduce to you the two gentlemen who now own the Opera Populaire, M. Richard Firmin and M. Gilles Andre. I'm sure you've read that recent fortune in the junk business," LeFevre continued.

"Scrap metal, actually," Firmin corrected.

A young man came onstage as well. "And we're deeply honored to introduce our new patron, the Vicomte de Chagny," Andre said.

The Vicomte looked like the usual rich boy, but he had a sweet face. "My parents and I are honored to support all the arts, especially the world-renowned Opera Populaire." He gave them a short bow.

They introduced the stars, and rehearsals continued. Selene couldn't pay attention to the music and the new owners at the same time, so she missed everything until the end of the song and Carlotta began to throw a fit.

"I hope your Vicomte is as enchanted as the ballet as you are, because I will NOT be SIGNING! Goodbye! Bring my doggy. Bye bye, I'm really leaving." She started to storm off.

"What do we do?" the new managers asked.

LeFevre waved a hand. "Grovel, grovel, grovel."

They followed her, trying to convince her she was needed (she wasn't). "If I remember rightly, Elissa has a rather fine aria in Act Three of "Hannibal". I wonder, Signora, if, as a personal favour, you would oblige us with a private rendition? Unless, of course, M. Reyer objects."

"If my managers command. M. Reyer?"

"If my diva commands." Reyer looked over at Selene and she nodded. "Signora?"

"Maestro."

Selene played the introduction to the aria, and then Carlotta started to sing.

_"Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye. Remember me once in a while please promise me you'll try. When you find that, once again, you long to take your heart-" _

With a rumble, a backdrop crashed to the floor, hitting Carlotta square in the back and knocking her to the ground.

The rest of the cast rushed to get her out, and Carlotta and Piangi stormed off the set, completely done.

"Gentlemen, if you need me, I shall be in Australia," LeFevre said happily, and went off, washing his hands of the whole affair.

"She'll be back won't she?"

Reyer shrugged and mopped his brow. Selene reached over and patted the older man on the arm comfortingly.

Mme. Giry held up a letter. "You think so, messieurs? I have a message, sir, from the Opera Ghost."

"God in Heaven, you're all obsessed!"

"He merely welcomes you to his opera house and commands you to continue to leave Box Five empty for his use and reminds you that his salary is due."

"His salary?"

"M. Lefevre paid him twenty thousand francs a month. Perhaps you can afford more, with the Vicomte de Chagny as your patron." She smirked.

"A full house Andre, we shall have to refund a full house!" Firmin said despairingly.

Meg Giry spoke up. "Christine Daae could sing it, sir."

"What? A chorus girl? Don't be silly."

"She's had a very good teacher," Mme Giry said.

"It's true, I've heard her sing," Selene said encouragingly.

"Let her sing for you, monsieur. She has been well taught."

Reyer sighed and looked at Selene.

She nodded. "She can sing, trust me."

"If you can't trust the pianist who can you trust?" he said, and turned to the stage. "From the beginning of the aria then, mam'selle."

Christine started off softly, quietly, and then grew in confidence, and soon she was singing with her full potential, blowing everyone away.

"That was..." Andre started.

"You're hired!" Firmin took her hand. "Ladies and gentlemen, our new prima donna!"

Everyone cheered, and rehearsals continued as Christine was rushed away for fittings and practicing the songs.

That evening when Selene came down to the lair Erik was at his desk, scribbling furiously. She went over to him and kissed his cheek. "You maneuvered things quite nicely today," she said, smiling at him.

He looked up from his work and smiled, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer. "I did, didn't I?" he asked. "There is much work to be done."

"I'll let you get to it," she said, stepping away from him. "Have you had dinner?"

He followed her into the kitchen area. "Selene, would you work with Christine as she practices the songs? Now she is making her debut her practice must be visible. And she trusts you."

"I'll help her," Selene said. "M. Reyer already asked me to do it."

"Good, good."


	5. Chapter 5

_**Disclaimer: see Chap 1**_

CHAPTER FIVE

Time passed in a flurry of days and nights as the opera house prepared for the new production of Hannibal. Christine stood the pressure very well, supported by Selene and Mme. Giry, and Erik. He was extremely strict with her, and during their night practices he would make her practice until she got it perfect. And her voice responded. During those short months Christine's voice got even better.

Then, it was opening night, and everyone was ready. The opera went off without a hitch, and as soon as it was over Selene skipped the orchestra's usual after party and went to Christine, ready to congratulate her.

She found Christine with Raoul de Chagny. "Oh, excuse me," she said, trying to back out of the room.

"No, I was just leaving," Raoul said, bowing to her. "Ten minutes, Christine."

"Going somewhere?" Selene asked, raising an eyebrow knowingly at the younger girl.

"We were childhood sweethearts," Christine explained, blushing, "he wants to take me to dinner."

"Oh, I see," Selene said. "Your teacher won't like you staying out late." She smiled slowly. "But I suppose one supper wouldn't hurt."

"What about..."

"I'll distract him," Selene said, nodding. "Go and have supper. I want you back by midnight at the latest."

"Oh, thank you, Selene." And Christine rushed out happily.

The mirror in the prima donna's room opened. "Insolent fool," Erik said, glaring at the flowers Raoul had brought for Christine. "He heard her sing and came running."

Selene smiled at him teasingly. "Are you jealous, Erik?"

"No," he protested. "But if she stays out late she will ruin her voice."

"It's one meal," Selene said, linking her hands behind his neck, bringing his face down. "Her voice will be fine. It's young love, Erik. Don't you remember how we were a few months ago?"

He smiled and placed his hands on her slim waist. "Like it was yesterday," he said. "Come with me." He led her through the mirror, and as they walked down to the lair, he placed an arm possessively around her waist and lifted her into the boat. "You played wonderfully tonight," he said quietly.

She smiled. "I could do no less for my favorite opera goer."

He returned the smile, his eyes shining with emotion.

As they neared the lair Selene was overcome with a strange sort of expectation. She was not disappointed, and as the boat bumped up against the little dock, Erik jumped out and helped her up the steps. He kissed her lightly, and started to sing, the song he sung only for her.

_"Night time sharpens, heightens each sensation_

_Darkness stirs and wakes imagination_

_Silently the senses abandon their defenses_

_Slowly, gently night unfurls its splendour_

_Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender_

_Turn your face away from the garish light of day_

_Turn your thoughts away from cold unfeeling light_

_And listen to the music of the night_

_Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams_

_Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before_

_Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar_

_And you'll live as you've never lived before." _

Selene closed her eyes blissfully as he cupped her face gently and traced her features. She had never heard him sing with such passion.

_"Softly, deftly, music shall caress you_

_Hear it, feel it, secretly possess you,_

_Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind_

_In this darkness that you know you cannot fight_

_The darkness of the music of the night._

_Let your mind start a journey to a strange new world_

_Leave all thoughts of the life you knew before_

_Let your soul take you where you long to be_

_Only then can you belong to me." _

His dark eyes bored into her and she shivered in anticipation. He leaned forward and kissed her gently.

_"Floating, falling, sweet intoxication_

_Touch me, trust me, savour each sensation_

_Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in_

_To the power of the music that I write_

_The power of the music of the night." _

He led her over to the piano and retrieved a small box. He knelt before her.

_"You alone can make my song take flight_

_Help me make the music of the night."_

Selene stared at him, tears gathering in her eyes as she looked at the shining diamond ring in his hands.

"Will you marry me, Selene?" he asked, a tremble in his voice betraying his nervousness.

She smiled. "Yes." She stepped closer and kissed him. "Yes, _yes_, Erik."

He slipped the ring on her finger and wrapped her in his arms, kissing her happily. He'd taken a chance, and it had paid off. "I love you, mon Ange," he said, looking into her beautiful eyes.

She smiled. "I love you."

Erik was of the mind that they could elope and get married right away, but Selene was the practical one and reminded him that they could not abandon Christine or the production itself.

"Fine," he grumbled, replacing his mask. "I should take you back before someone realizes you are missing."

Selene could not concentrate the next day at work, and kept throwing off the ballet's rhythm.

"Miss Pascale," Mme Giry finally said, exasperated. "Please get your head out of the clouds and concentrate."

"I'm sorry Madame. It won't happen again."

After rehearsals Mme Giry pulled Selene into her office. "Where is your head today, Selene?" she inquired.

"With Erik," Selene said dreamily.

Mme Giry raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

Selene lifted a thin silver chain from under her dress. She'd strung the ring on it so others wouldn't ask questions.

"He proposed?" Mme Giry asked, astonished.

"Yes."

"And you said yes?"

"Yes."

"Oh, my dear, I am so happy for you both." Mme Giry hugged her.

"Thank you."

"No wonder you cannot concentrate."

Selene blushed.

Hannibal ran to its full conclusion, and the frantic activity calmed down. They had a few weeks till their next opera, Il Muto. And Erik wanted Christine to have the role of Comtesse, and Carlotta the role of the pageboy.

The managers didn't know who they were dealing with however, and they cast Carlotta as the main lead, and Christine in the silent role.

"How dare they disobey my instructions?" Erik raged, pacing back and forth in front of the organ. He crashed his hands onto the keys and let the instrument screech horrifically.

Selene covered her ears with her hands and winced. "Erik, please," she said, once the noise had subsided and he resumed his pacing. "You know that Carlotta cannot go from famous to obscure within a week. Give it time. And the way that Raoul and Christine's romance is going, he is sure to push the managers to give Christine the lead."

"That useless fop," Erik scoffed. "He took over Box 5!"

"You should change the locks. If nobody can get in, he can't use it."

"They'd probably break down the door," Erik grumbled.

"Maybe, but he does have money and influence. He might be useful later on."

Erik's eyes began to gleam. "Perhaps a small accident should occur..."

She went over and placed a hand on his arm, interrupting his musings. "You won't harm anyone, will you?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No. Only a little humiliation for the haughty prima donna." He grinned. "Pride goeth before a fail."

She smirked. "I don't think that's quite how it goes, dear."

Which is why, halfway through the first production of Il Muto, the Phantom's voice thundered through the auditorium.

"Did I not instruct that Box 5 was to be kept empty?" he raged, making everyone fall silent.

Christine turned pale. "It's him. I know it. It's him."

"Your part is silent, little toad!" Carlotta hissed.

Erik's voice was deadly as he replied to Carlotta. "A toad, Madame? Perhaps it is you who are the toad." He fell silent and whisked away to another part of the rafters.

Selene watched uneasily as Reyer shuffled his pages and Carlotta went to the edge of the stage to get some throat spray. "From the beginning, signora," he said.

Carlotta nodded. "Serafimo, away with this pretense! You cannot speak, but kiss me in my- CROAOK!" She stopped, amazed and horrified.

The Phantom started to laugh, quietly at first and then a low chuckle.

She tried again. "Poor fool, he makes me laugh -Hahahahaha! Croak, croak, croak, croak, croak, croak-" she looked helplessly at her staff and at M. Reyer as the Phantom's hysterical laughter began to fill the auditorium.

The chandelier started tremble and the lights started to blink on and off as Carlotta persevered.

The phantom spoke once again. "Behold! She is singing to bring down the chandelier!"

Carlotta rushed from the stage, shrieking and croaking. The managers scrambled from their box to the stage, trying to figure out what to do. Firmin addressed the audience. "Ladies and gentlemen, the performance will continue in ten minutes' time, when the role of the Countess will be sung by Miss Christine Daae."

Andre spoke up. "In the meantime, ladies and gentlemen, we shall be giving you the ballet from Act Three of tonight's opera."

Reyer gaped. "What?"

"Maestro, the ballet, now," Andre said hurriedly.

"The ballet, the ballet!" Reyer commanded the orchestra. "Selene, stall!"

She started to play the introduction to the ballet, drawing it out and letting the other instruments fill in.

The ballet came on half-prepared while stage hands were still moving the scenes. The audience was loving it, though, and they chuckled through the ballet.

Selene glanced up at the rafters more than once, wondering what Erik was going to do next. Nothing happened though, except the chandelier continued to rattle perilously, and Il Muto continued with Christine as the Comtesse.

Afterwards, before Selene could even take the pins from her hair, Erik appeared, looking troubled.

"What's wrong?" Selene asked, touching his arm.

He swept her into his arms and buried his face in her neck, the mask cold against her skin. "Oh, Selene," he said, his voice almost a sob.

"What's happened?" she asked worriedly.

"I almost killed someone," he admitted.

"Who?"

"Buquet."

Selene stilled. Buquet was a drunken pervert that stirred up trouble and spread gossip. "What happened?" she asked, pulling back slightly to look at Erik's face.

"I replaced Carlotta's throat spray, and when she ran off stage I was still fixing the lights to flicker. But Buquet saw me and started following me. He was half drunk, and I chased him. We were right on top of the ballet when I cornered him. I was this close to strangling him." He let his hand drop to the rope at his belt, and he cast his eyes to the ground, unable to look at his fiancé. "I couldn't kill him, though. I threw him out instead. But I was in such a rage... Selene, I almost brought down the chandelier, right on top of Christine." He buried his face in his hands. "I am a monster."

Selene stared at him for a long moment. Then, "but you didn't kill him."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I cannot be a murderer and love you at the same time," he said. "I had my hands 'round his throat but all I could see was your disappointed face, and, I couldn't."

She hugged him suddenly, smiling. "Erik, you're not a monster. If you were you would've killed him and not given a single thought to the consequences. But you thought, and you controlled yourself. And you didn't break the chandelier."

"It would've landed on the orchestra," he said, his voice muffled in her shoulder. "I couldn't hurt you, ever."

She kissed his cheek. "I knew there was a reason I loved you." She held him for a long time while his breathing steadied. "Thank you for thinking of me," she said softly. "I know you are not used to doing so."

He stroked her cheek with his hand. "Thank you for making me a better man."

She kissed him gently. "You are quite welcome." She started to giggle. "And I believe you achieved both of your objectives tonight. Carlotta will not sing and Christine has convinced Raoul to leave Box 5 empty."

Erik shook his head. "They are engaged, by the way."

"What?"

"Just earlier, on the roof." He smiled. "If I was not still so annoyed it would have been quite romantic."

"Eavesdropper," she accused, even though she was smiling. "You should know better than that." She laid her head on his shoulder, tired from the day. "We have vacation now, until the New Year's Masquerade."

He nodded.

They sat in silence for a long while, and then Erik said abruptly, "Run away with me, Selene."

She sat up and stared at him. "What?"

"Let's elope," he proposed. "Right now. We can wake Mme. Giry and Christine and go to the nearest priest. We can travel, and be together, just the two of us, and be back in time for the Masquerade."

"Erik, I, what,"

"Say yes," he begged, kissing her gently. "Let me take care of everything. Only say yes."

She smiled. "Yes."

"Excellent!" He leaped off the sofa and helped her stand. "Go find Mme. Giry and Christine, and then meet me here. I must go get something from my home." He vanished through the mirror.

Selene went to get Mme. Giry and Christine, who were talking about Christine's engagement. "Selene, Raoul asked me to marry him!" Christine said excitedly.

"So did Erik," Selene said, "get your cloaks."

They stared at her for a second then Christine asked incredulously, "You mean you're getting married _now?_"

"Why not?" Selene asked.

"He always was impulsive," Mme. Giry said, standing up. "Come, Christine, get your things."

They went back to Selene's rooms, and found Erik just laying out a beautiful white wedding dress. "This is yours," he said, smiling at her. "I designed it."

She ran a gentle hand over the white lace. "Oh," she said softly. "It's perfect."

He smirked. "I know." He nodded to Mme. Giry. "Help her get dressed, and we shall go. I shall be waiting at the carriage."

They helped her into the wedding dress, and put Selene's hair up into a low bun, a few tendrils framing her face. "You look beautiful," Christine said, with a happy sigh.

Selene smiled and squeezed her hand. "Don't worry Christine, this will be you in a few months."

Christine blushed bright red. "Oh I do hope so."

The priest was not happy about being woken up in the middle of the night to marry a mysterious couple, especially not one with a mask over his face. But after they explained their circumstances he could see they were sincere, so he performed the ceremony and blessed them. "I now pronounce you man and wife."

Mme. Giry and Christine saw the newlyweds off to the train station, and returned to the opera house. "I wonder where they're going…" Christine mused.

"Where _are_ we going, Erik?" Selene asked, as they got on the train.

He smiled mysteriously. "You'll see."

They traveled through Spain for three months, enjoying the beautiful countryside and the architecture, and the pleasure of absolute anonymity. People didn't even ask about the mask.

"If you have money and good manners, no one asks questions," Selene said, smiling at her husband. "We could travel the world and not a single person would care."

He smiled at her and stored that information away for later.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Disclaimer: see Chap 1**_

CHAPTER SIX

A week before New Year's they returned to the opera house to get ready for the masquerade. They decided that Erik would design Selene's costume, and she would design his, and they'd both be a complete surprise.

The day of the Masquerade, they revealed their designs to each other. "Artemis, goddess of the moon," Erik said, holding up the costume with a flourish. The dress was a pale, shimmering silver with a delicate grey embroidery. It had a cape that flowed around the dress and trailed slightly on the floor, and on it was embroidered a hunting scene taking place in the full moon. Besides the dress were a pair of silver elbow length gloves, and a beautiful mask embroidered with silver owl feathers and sparkling jewels around the eyes.

"It's so beautiful," Selene said, trailing her fingers over the material. "Why Artemis?"

"Your name means moon, doesn't it?"

"Oh yes." She kissed his cheek.

"I'm glad you like it." He glanced over at the cloth bundle on the bed curiously.

Selene picked it up with a smile and pulled back the cloth. "The Angel of Music."

Erik stared. It was a completely black suit with a white shirt and a gold waistcoat. And there was a harness that went underneath the jacket. It had two white wings that swept up in the air and sparkled gold. And with it was a full ivory white face mask with accents of gold on the cheeks. His eyes started to fill up with tears. "Selene, how..."

"This is how I see you," Selene said simply. "Christine may have lost the illusion but I never will."

He put down the outfit and swept her up in his arms. "I love you," he murmured, kissing her again. "I love you, so much."

She smiled against his lips and hugged him tightly. "I love you too." She pulled back slightly. "Now I have to go get ready."

They both looked otherworldly when they were fully dressed, and they discreetly joined the festivities upstairs. They did not expect everyone to stare at them as they danced.

"Why are they all looking at us?" Erik asked quietly.

Selene smiled and whispered, "Because we're the best dressed couple in the place, obviously."

"Obviously," Erik repeated, with pride.

After the dance ended, someone approached them. It was a harlequin. "May I have this dance?" It was Dubois.

Selene glanced at Erik and received a brief nod. "Of course monsieur," Selene said.

Dubois' jaw dropped open. "Selene? Is that you?"

"Yes indeed."

He led her out to the dance floor. "Where've you been for three months?" he asked curiously.

"Oh, I've been traveling."

"I see." He glanced over at Erik. "Who is that?"

"Hm? That's Erik. He's a patron of the opera." Selene lowered her voice. "But don't tell anyone, he makes very charitable donations and he's very shy."

Dubois raised an eyebrow. "Are you in love, Selene?"

She blushed. "Absolutely."

Erik couldn't stand watching her any longer and cut in. "Thank _you_," he said, sweeping Selene away to the other side of the ball room.

"Jealous, much, my love?" she asked teasingly.

"Very."

She rested her head on his shoulder.

After the masquerade everyone returned to their jobs. The Phantom continued his phantoming, and Selene returned to her piano. And Carlotta moved back to Italy.

The entire thing was quite sudden. One moment, Carlotta was being her usual prima donna self and the next, she was weeping and wailing and yelling for her doggie. "My mama is dying!" she wailed in Piangi's arms, fanning herself with the letter. "I musta return to Italia! Bring my doggie!" She glared at Christine. "You! You will take ma place. And you will not mess up! You will be my legacy! And I still a-hate my 'at! Goodbye! Ubaldo, andiamo!" And she was gone.

Selene stared at the spot where Carlotta had been standing, and glanced up at the dark ceiling to see if Erik had heard. A whoosh of cape assured her that yes, he had.

As soon as rehearsals were over she ventured downstairs and found him composing furiously. "Erik?" she asked curiously.

"Shhh," he said, "I'm working."

She rolled her eyes and went to make some dinner. "Hungry?" she asked.

"Shhhhhh," he said.

"I think I'll sleep upstairs," she said.

"Shhh."

She left the lair after having some bread and cheese and went to bed. It was too cold to sleep in the lair without Erik by her side. She tossed and turned, and finally fell into a fitful sleep.

"Selene, are you making tea?" Erik asked, sometime later when he felt the rumbling in his stomach.

There was no reply.

He looked up from his desk and glanced around. "Selene?" She wasn't there. His first instinct was to panic, and then he realized she must have gone to bed. He checked in the bedroom, and found it empty. She must have gone upstairs. But why? He climbed up through the cellars and found her in her room, sleeping. He knelt down beside her. "Selene," he whispered, touching her soft cheek lightly.

"Mm?" Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled at him drowsily. "Erik."

"Why aren't you downstairs?" he asked.

She shrugged. "You were busy and it's far too cold down there by myself."

He frowned guiltily. He'd brushed her off and ignored her. "I'm sorry, mon ange," he said, leaning over to kiss her. "Come back with me?"

"You don't need to finish what you were working on?"

He shook his head. "I'm done for tonight."

"All right." She got out of bed and wrapped up in a thick robe and slippers. "What are you working on?"

"It's a surprise," he said, giving her a mysterious look.

She gave him a persuasive look. "You won't even tell me?"

"No," he said. "It's absolutely secret."

Erik worked furiously for a month and a half, careful not to neglect his wife. Even if it was just for a few hours each night he would lay down and sleep, curled up against her side.

Finally, it was finished. He finished the final note with a flourish and stacked the papers. "Selene?"

"Yes dear?" She was painting a miniature forest scene, and didn't even look over at him as she was filling in the underbrush.

"I've finished it."

She put her paintbrush down then, and came over. "What is it?"

He showed her the cover. "An opera."

"An opera?" she said in disbelief. "A full opera?"

"Yes." He wrapped an arm around her waist and leaned against her happily. "My masterpiece."

"What's it about?" she asked curiously.

He picked it up and placed it in her hands. "I want you to read it," he said solemnly. "And you will tell me if it can be performed."

"Me?" she asked, surprised. "Not Nadir, or Antoinette? Not even M. Reyer?"

"No," he said firmly. "I want you to be the first to read it."

She smiled and kissed him lightly. "Thank you."

He nodded, slightly embarrassed for once. "I hope you like it."

"I will," she said confidently.

Selene took it to bed that night with a candle, and while Erik slept, exhausted from writing, she read. She read the entire opera from start to finish, and at the end she cried. It was the story of a lonely, scarred, isolated man who saved a woman's life, and they fell in love, hiding their love from the rest of the world. Then finally they decide to escape from their dreary world and fly to the undiscovered country. As they are leaving on their wings of light, the man is caught, and, thought to be an evil spirit, is killed, leaving the woman to continue on her journey alone, with a heavy heart.

"Did you like it?" Erik asked groggily, as she blew out the candle and lay down.

"It is a true masterpiece," she replied, kissing his cheek. "The music, the lyrics, the scenes, the pacing, brilliant. Only one question."

"Yes?"

"Why does the male lead die at the end?"

"So they can be forever free, my love," he replied cryptically.

Selene sighed contentedly and snuggled into his warm arms. "For a while there, until the end, I thought it was the story of us. Our meeting, our love, our journey. You put our song in it, as well."

He went so still beside her that she was startled.

She sat up and stared at him in the dim light from the fire, trying to make out his expression. "Is it, Erik?" she asked.

He nodded slowly. "Yes."

She gaped at him.

"You were a miracle," he said honestly. "I couldn't help but tell our story in music."

"And the end, Erik?" she asked breathlessly, worriedly. "What about the end?"

"That will be our beginning," he said.

"Explain," she said firmly.

He shifted uncomfortably. "It's late, my dear."

"I don't care. If you have a plan, Erik, please, tell it to me."

He sighed and sat up so he could face her. "Selene, my love, we live in a cave next to a lake five cellars below the ground floor of an opera house. I am a phantom and you are a piano player who cannot tell anyone you are no longer Mademoiselle Pascale but Madame Destler." Here he kissed her.

"And?" she asked.

He smoothed the hair away from her brow. "And you are a beautiful, artistic, talented woman who belongs in the light," he said. "In a home with windows and proper heating and a garden where you can sit and paint to your heart's content. And I..." he paused to gather his thoughts, "I weary of being a phantom, only existing as shadows and letters. I want to be a man, I want to be seen with my wife on my arm and not worry about the fate of the opera house." He locked eyes with her, his gaze determined. "I want us to leave the opera, Selene. For good."

"For good?" she gasped. It had been his home for so many years she didn't think he'd ever want to leave.

"For good," he said firmly. "I want to travel the world with you, Selene, and write songs while you paint, and play duets with you on the piano."

She leaned forward and kissed him tenderly. "Anywhere you go, let me go, too," she said, quoting from a well-known scripture.

"Good," he said, laying down and pulling her down to lay on his shoulder. "Then we start production tomorrow."

"What?"

"Yes. Christine will be the female lead, playing you. I wrote it specifically for her voice. Since we are leaving I wanted this to be her performance just for us. I will perform the male lead, playing myself. We will pretend that Piangi's replacement is singing but I will replace him at the last minute. And you, my dear, will be the orchestral lead."

"What?"

"I wrote the music so the piano takes the lead role in every song, and the rest of the orchestra complements it." He kissed her nose playfully. "You, my dear, will be the third lead."

She smiled. "And after the performance?" she asked. "Are we going to leave after the full run?"

He shook his head and lowered his head near her ear. Very quietly, he explained his plan.

Selene could only stare at the ceiling for a few moments, digesting the plan. "Sounds very dramatic," was all she said.

"Oh it will be," he said, with relish. "A performance worthy of the phantom."

"You _will_ be careful, won't you?"

"Of course my love."

She nodded slowly. "Sounds like fun."

The next morning Erik took the opera to the managers, and the opera was put into rehearsals at once. Selene and Christine were working the hardest since they were the stars of the show. And after rehearsals they would both practice with Erik. Christine knew part of the plan, and she was glad to help.

Monsieur Reyer approached Selene one day after rehearsals. "You did well today, mademoiselle."

She smiled. "Thank you, monsieur."

"Tell me, mlle, what do you know of the phantom of the opera?"

She gaped at him. "The phantom, monsieur?"

"Yes. Surely you know of him."

"Yes..."

"That's good. I thought you might have encountered him, seeing as he's given you such a major part in it." He smiled at her knowingly. "Only two people have been tutored by the phantom, mademoiselle, and Christine Daae is one."

"How did you know?" Selene asked quietly, looking around for any eavesdroppers.

"When you play, you perform for someone in particular," he said frankly, "and don't think I haven't noticed your glances up to the rafters. _And_..." he took her left hand, where she'd forgotten to take off her wedding ring.

"Oh," Selene said quietly, blushing.

He patted her hand. "He is a good man, my dear. I'm glad he has you."

She could only stare at him. "How do you know him?"

"Oh, it was a long time ago, my dear. I'd just come to the opera house, and the orchestra was in awful shape. I scolded them well and got a decent sound out of them, and that evening I found a letter on my desk, from the Opera Ghost. He congratulated me on having a fine ear and hoped that I would continue to bring harmony to the opera, as well as a page and a half of commands disguised as suggestions." He grinned wryly. "And he was right, every single time. From then on I have listened to all the phantom's instructions."

"Oh."

He smiled. "Good night my dear." And he headed off to his own rooms.

Selene made her way down to the lair thoughtfully and found Erik working on stage set mockups. "M. Reyer knows," she said, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist.

"Knows what?" Erik asked absently, relaxing into her embrace.

"He knows our relationship," she said. "I forgot to take my ring off and he put the pieces together. He thinks I'm good for you."

"M. Reyer is a very clever man," he replied, leaning up to kiss her. "He will keep our secret."

"Yes he will."

The weeks passed in a flurry of work. Erik demanded perfection of absolutely everyone, from stage hands to the actors, and in the evenings Christine, Erik, and Selene would practice in the lair. When Selene listened to them singing, chills would go down her spine, and it felt like the angels themselves were singing. And sometimes, even though she squashed it, she was _so_ jealous of their rapport.

Erik noticed it one night, after Christine had gone back up to bed. Selene was sitting at the piano, staring at the keys absent-mindedly. "Tired?" Erik asked, placing gentle hands on her shoulders.

"Just thinking," she said, forcing a smile at him.

He sat on the bench next to her. "About what, my love?"

"Christine," she said absently.

"What about her?"

Selene sighed. "Never mind. It's nothing. Let's just go to bed."

He put an arm around her waist, holding her lightly. If she truly wanted to drop it, she could get away, but from the look on her face she wanted to talk. "Tell me," he requested.

She sighed again. "I'm jealous."

"Of what?" he asked, going over his behavior over the last few weeks, trying to see if he'd been acting improperly. "What did I do?"

"It's not you," she assured him, "and Christine hasn't done anything either, it's just..." she trailed off. "You and she... you have the most beautiful voices in the world, and when you sing, something magical happens. I wish... I wish I could sing like that, that we could have that moment." She sighed. "Never mind. I'm just tired." She tried to pull away again, but Erik's arm held tighter. "Erik, please let go."

He cupped her cheek and made her face him. "Selene," he said softly, "my beautiful, amazing wife, please, listen." He waited until she was looking at him before he spoke. "Christine has a beautiful voice yes, but she is not _you_. She has never even seen my face, she doesn't know me as anything except the phantom, and her tutor. _You_ are the one that knows all of me, my past, and my face, and you still accept me. _You_ are the one that paints and draws, and you are the one that makes the piano work wonders. And when we sing together, Selene, it makes me happier than anything, not because of your voice, but because it's _you_." He kissed her gently. "Don't ever be jealous, my love."

She smiled at him, happy tears in her eyes. "I'll try not to."

He kissed her again and helped her up. "Let's get some rest, my dear. It's been a long day."


	7. Chapter 7

_**Author's Note: Last chapter! Thanks for reading! **_

_**Disclaimer: see Chap 1**_

CHAPTER SEVEN

Costumes, props, stage sets, ballet, acting, show posters, rehearsals, dress rehearsals, all of these things were micro-managed by the Phantom, until finally, finally, it was opening night. It was the most talked about opera in Paris, and indeed all of France, written by O. G. himself, and anyone who was anyone turned out to see it.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Selene asked quietly, as she was backstage putting on makeup.

Erik's voice answered from behind the wall. "Absolutely, my dear. Trust me."

She nodded. "I trust you. Always."

She took her place in the orchestra pit with the others and began warming up. M. Reyer was fidgeting nervously behind her. She gave him an encouraging smile. "Everything will go perfectly," she assured him.

"And... intro..." M. Reyer said, gesturing with his baton. And the opera began.

Behind the scenes as the music began to swell in the opening notes, Erik carefully dropped down behind the lead tenor and knocked him out. Christine was there, watching him wide-eyed. He gave her a grin. "He'll sleep for a few hours and wake up fine," he assured her, putting the unconscious man into a supply closet.

Erik was already in costume - he slipped onto stage, before curtain came up, and he was in position when it rose. And when the first notes came out of his throat, the audience went absolutely silent.

As Selene glanced at the flabbergasted audience she grinned. No one had expected the new lead tenor to be so good. Only the Angel of Music could sing like that. She glanced up at the stage and they locked gazes. She felt her face heat up at the intensity of his gaze, and smiled. He was singing to her, and she was playing to him.

When Christine came on, in the character of Selene, she took the audience's breath away. Her voice and Erik's combined to send chills down everyone's spines.

The first two acts of the opera passed in a flash. The ballet corps, the sets, the music, the acting, everything went absolutely perfect. The audience was loving it. And then the third act began, and Selene began to tense up.

She was hyperaware of Erik and Christine moving about on stage, singing about the undiscovered country. Soon they would rise up through concealed wires, and the main lead would be "shot down" by the other actors, men from the city who thought that the man's presence was wicked.

As the "flying" started, Selene glanced up and saw police quietly slipping into the theatre, lining the walls and approaching the stage. She glanced over at Mme Giry, and the older woman nodded. Selene returned her attention to the notes, and to the stage, her fingers flying over the piano and coaxing a light ethereal tune from it with the help of the violins, in time with the flying couple on stage.

Then the angry mob of "townspeople" entered, and "shot" at the man. The police sprang into action, and swarmed over the stage, joining in the shooting. One of the bullets hit Erik and another severed the wires, causing him to fall to the ground behind one of the set pieces.

A woman screamed, and the lights flickered wildly as everything stopped and people began shifting in their seats, wondering if this was part of the play or not.

Selene could only stare, her heart in her mouth, as the police pulled Erik from behind the set piece and checked his pulse. "He's dead," the policeman said grimly.

"Who invited you anyway?" one of the actors asked the police, half in shock. "Couldn't you see we were in the middle of an opera?"

"We were tipped off that a criminal was present," the policeman said. "Don't you know? This was the phantom of the opera." And he ripped the lifelike mask from Erik's face, exposing his disfigurement.

Selene felt tears spring to her eyes as people gasped and screamed and cursed, and she felt like swooning. She couldn't believe it. She was vaguely aware of the stagehands helping Christine off the rig and Mme. Giry clearing the stage. The gendarmes went off with Erik's body, and some went to clear the audience, and the managers were beside themselves in confusion trying to direct everyone and failing at everything.

"Come, my dear," M. Reyer said, putting an arm around her shoulders gently, "there's nothing we can do. Come, we'll get you a glass of wine for the shock." He led her away backstage and gave her a glass of wine in Mme. Giry's office.

Selene could only sip at it, staring at its blood-red depths. It looked like Erik's blood onstage... she started to tremble and put down the glass before she dropped it.

"I'm terribly sorry," M. Reyer told her sincerely, patting her arm. "I wish..." He sighed. "That wonderful voice..." He excused himself, looking quite shaken as well.

Selene sat there, staring blankly at the wall, until Mme. Giry came in with Christine.

"Selene?" Mme. Giry said quietly. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Selene replied, blinking slowly. "It's odd, I can't, I can't even cry."

Mme. Giry gave her a hug. "I know, my dear, I know." She held her for a long time before letting go. "I think you need some rest."

"I couldn't sleep," Selene said, shaking her head. "Not without..." She shook her head. "I can't stay here. Not in the opera house."

"But where will you go?" Christine asked, eyes wide.

"I don't know," Selene said blankly. "I just... I have to get out of here. I'll send for my things. You can tell them all I went to visit family." She stood up hastily, kissed both Christine and Mme. Giry on the cheek, and left.

She met Nadir at the back entrance of the opera house. Somehow he'd heard the commotion and he'd come to find her. "Selene," he said, looking her over for injuries, "are you well?"

"Yes, no, I don't know." She clutched at his arm, feeling like she couldn't breathe with all these people and all these policemen around, a grim reminder of what had just happened. "Please, take me out of here. I need to get away."

He nodded. "Come with me." He led her to a waiting carriage, and they headed off through the streets of Paris. "I have connections. I can get you a ticket to the countryside," he offered.

"Spain," Selene said, smiling faintly at the memories. "We were happy there."

Nadir nodded. "Spain, then."

He got her on a train to Spain directly, and by morning Selene found herself in Barcelona. She checked into an inn and collapsed on the bed, exhausted. Finally, here, she could cry. She cried herself to sleep.

"Selene?" A quiet, heavenly voice woke her from slumber.

She opened her eyes lazily to see- "Erik!" She bolted up from the bed and threw her arms around him. "You're alive! You made it! Are you hurt? Did you just get here?" She kissed him fiercely, not even giving him time to respond.

He returned the kiss eagerly, and when they finally broke apart for air he pressed his face to her shoulder, just holding her. "We did it," he said, his voice muffled, "we are free."

She gave a laugh-sob of joy and kissed his hair. "Did everything go all right?"

"Nadir was perfect as the Parisian gendarme," Erik said, leaning back slightly to tell the story. "And my placement of props was perfect, I didn't even bruise when I sliced the wires and fell."

She hugged him again. "When you fell, and he ripped off your mask and pronounced you dead, I couldn't breathe. I didn't know if you were alive or dead."

He smoothed her hair. "But it's all fine now, my love. I'm here, we're both fine."

She nodded and kissed him lightly. "Hopefully we never have to do that again."

"Never," he promised.

The next morning the scandal was in all the papers. "Opera Ghost killed in Surprise Raid". "The False Phantom Gives up the Ghost."

"These puns are truly awful," Erik said, grimacing at the front of the newspaper.

Selene snickered. "Then why are you reading them, dear?"

"True." He put down the paper. "So, my love, what are we going to do today?"

She shrugged lightly. "Tell Mme Giry and Christine, and Nadir, that we made it safe and sound."

"I shall send a telegram directly," Erik promised.

"And M. Reyer," Selene added.

"Why him?"

"He was truly worried," she said, "and I think he will be sorry you are gone. He was dreadfully shaken up last night but he still took care of me."

He nodded. "I will send a letter to him, explaining the situation."

"Thank you."

"Anything for you," he replied honestly.

A week later, M. Reyer got a letter in the post, from a M. Erik Destler. He opened it, and went pasty gray in the privacy of his office. This was the handwriting of the Phantom of the Opera... He started to read.

"M. Reyer,

With this letter you will know that the news of my death have been greatly exaggerated. I am alive and well, and indeed planned the entire event from start to finish. The opera I wrote was only to be performed that one time, to allow me to fake my death and free Selene and me from hiding our marriage. The main policeman who shot me was actually a friend of mine whom you will recognize as the Persian. He shot me with a small blank filled with wine, and I sliced the wires myself. When I fell, I landed on a pile of cloth to muffle the blow. I injected myself with a mixture of substances to appear as if dead, and placed a small ball under my arm to cut off my circulation. A common trick. When I was carted off to the morgue, the Persian was there to inject me with a stimulant and revive me. Selene and I are now safely away from Paris. And on that note, thank you for your many years of service to the Phantom of the Opera. If you need anything, ever, you may ask Mme. Giry or the Persian; they will know where I am. May you continue being a wonderful conductor. Sincerely, Erik Destler."

M. Reyer could only stare at the letter in shock, and then he began to laugh. He laughed so hard the other orchestra members thought he'd gone quite mad. But he'd never been happier in his life. "Come," he said, waving to them, "we need to practice."

Selene and Erik settled in Spain for the time being, surrounded by fields and farmers who didn't judge on appearances. Selene taught piano and art lessons, and Erik taught math and singing lessons.

They traveled all over Europe in the summer, and when Christine and Raoul got married, they attended the wedding in the back row, smiling proudly.

Mme. Giry got periodic updates from the couple, and then she got a brief letter.

"Dear Mme Giry,

We are moving to America, the land of opportunity. There in the large cities we will find a place to showcase our talents without having to hide behind masks. Erik hopes to sell his compositions, and I hope to perform in an orchestra again. And another thing, Antoinette, I am pregnant. Erik and I are both thrilled, and even though he is nervous the child will be born deformed, I will love my child no matter what he or she looks like. I personally think it will be a girl, I can sort of sense it. When the baby is born we will write you again, but after that I don't really know what the world has in store for us. Thank you again for taking care of Erik all these years, and helping the two of us grow closer. Erik sends his love.

Love, Selene Destler."

The End


End file.
